In the passage the beatitudes, Jesus is teaching a crowd. He is speaking to ordinary people, whose daily life is a struggle—poverty, family issues, violence, living in oppression. He is offering them a message of hope—telling them that their lives are blessed, and they are a blessing to the world.
This passage has sometimes been used to encourage resignation of one’s circumstances or situation.The idea is that if you suffer in this life, you will be blessed in the next. But I don’t think that’s what Jesus is trying to suggest. I want to reflect on some of the beatitudes from my experience as someone who identifies as bisexual.
Blessed are those who are poor in spirit: The kindom of heaven is theirs.
I have had many times throughout my life where I struggled to find a sense of belonging. I never quite fit in at school. I wasn’t able to identify my sexual orientation at that point. I didn’t have trusted adults to talk to. I didn’t have role models in the public. I didn’t have the language to describe what I was feeling. There was a lot of bullying and I felt very isolated. My faith was one of the things that gave me strength to get through this time. I remember stumbling across a passage from Romans 8. It says:
The Spirit, too, comes to help us in our weakness. For we don’t know how to pray as we should, but the Spirit expresses our plea with groanings too deep for words. And God, who knows everything in our hearts, knows perfectly well what the Spirit is saying because her intersessions for God’s holy people are made according to the mind of God. We know that God makes everything work together for the good of those who love God and have been called according to God’s purpose.
As a teenager, when I felt poor in spirit, alone, or lost these words gave me a sense of God’s presence. They reminded me that I was not alone even when I felt like it. My faith in a God of love was central to my survival. This passage reminded me that even if I didn’t understand what was happening, the world felt out of control, and I was completely overwhelmed, God was present and in the big picture, everything would work out.
Blessed are those who are mourning: They will be consoled.
I mourn the disruption to relationships, the loss of friendships, and the broken trust that occurred during this time in my own life.
I mourn that there are still children and youth without safe spaces, families where children are kicked out because of their sexual orientation or gender identity. I mourn that queer youth have a much higher suicide rate than other youth. I mourn the deaths of so many who died because HIV and AIDS were initially considered a gay disease and unworthy of time, energy, money, and research until it started impacting those outside the queer community. I mourn people who were incarcerated when being gay was illegal or considered a mental illness. I mourn for those who have experienced conversion therapy when family or churches tried to change who they truly are. I mourn that the queer community continues to be exposed to violence because of a lack of understanding and a lack of compassion.
And then I am reminded of people who have gone before. Their work has created safer spaces for me and others. I remember people who have come and stood alongside me as I struggled to figure out my own identity. It is a gift to be present as people ask questions, learn and grow into the people they are called to be. I am reminded of the work we continue to do as a church that remembers these hurts and seeks something different.
Blessed are those who are gentle: They will inherit the land.
The particular translation we heard this morning, uses the word gentle. “Blessed are those who are gentle.” Other translations include meek and humble. As a child, I learned well how to be humble. I learned not to talk about any of my accomplishments—that was bragging. With the bullying, I tried hard to blend into the wallpaper. I tried not to draw any kind of attention to myself—good or bad. I worked hard at being invisible. As a bi-sexual person in a straight-passing relationship, I continue to be able to blend in. It is easy for me to appear straight to others, but that is not how I see myself. I am often seen and treated as an ally rather than as a full member of the queer community.
I’ve learned over the last several years it is important for me to name and express my identity. Publicly identifying myself often feels risky. I could just say I’m in a relationship that passes for straight, so it doesn’t matter. But whenever I become aware that my relationship gives me a certain level of privilege and safety, I am reminded again that the relationship doesn’t define who I am. Opting for safety rather than authenticity also feels like a betrayal to those who live with vulnerability on a daily basis. On a personal level, I receive a certain level of privilege for appearing straight. Blending into primarily straight communities allows me to be present and challenge assumptions in ways that might be less threatening. At the same time, there often feels like a disconnect between how others see me and how I see myself. That sense of invisibility and not being seen for who I am continues to be a present reality in my life.
Inheriting the land isn’t just about physical land. In biblical times, having land provided a sense of security, safety, and stability. For many in the queer community, families of origin are not always safe space. Many have been forced to choose between family, the security that provides and being true to themselves, and being fully present in the world as they are created. Where does the queer community find safety, security, and stability? For many, it is important to create a chosen family. Those bonds might be stronger and more trusting than the family of origin. I have certain friends who know me well and just being in their presence feels safe and secure. For all of us, it is important to have people and places that are safe and secure, places we can be vulnerable. Each of us needs a place where we can be fully ourselves, where we don’t need to be humble or try to be invisible.
Blessed are those who hunger and thirst for justice: They will have their fill.
In 1988 when the United Church voted on the full inclusion of LGBTQ people, I was 13. This was my first inkling that sexual orientation even existed. I had always been taught that God loves everyone and yet in the debate, I heard undertones of hate and violence. I remember wondering to myself why a God who loves everyone would condemn some people to hell. I wondered what a person’s sexual orientation had to do with their ability to be a good minister. I wondered if the violence I experienced at school would follow me to church. At this time, I hadn’t explored my own sexuality. These questions were related to other people and not my own place in this web of theology, scripture, justice, church, and life.
And I remained silent. I was too afraid to speak out. For many years after, I felt shame for not having spoken up and voiced these questions out loud. What I’ve come to understand is that at that particular time in my life, I was very vulnerable. I had no support system where it felt safe to explore sexuality, I was already being bullied. I didn’t have the language or experience to express what I was thinking and feeling. I’m at a different place in my life now. I have a good support system. I have role models for what it means to live as a queer Christian. I have the language and skills to do the justice work that I couldn’t do as a teenager. Now, I have the ability and responsibility to be present in a different way.
This experience instilled in me a passion for justice in the world. My faith is directly tied to God’s call to justice which we find in both the Hebrew and Christian scriptures. I felt like the outcast, the stranger.Even as a teenager, I wanted to change things. Deuteronomy 10 reminds us that
YWHW is the God of gods, who brings justice to the orphan and the widowed, and who befriends the foreigner among you with food and clothing. In the same way, you too must befriend the foreigner, for you were once foreigners yourselves in the land of Egypt.
These and other passages remind me that the struggle for inclusion, for safety, for survival is not just someone else’s struggle. The struggle to be whole, to be safe, to feel welcome, and to live fully is a struggle that belongs to all of us. We are interconnected and we need to trust that our struggles will be supported by others.
When I was a teenager, trying to find my way, I was vulnerable and had no voice. I needed those who had already found their voice, and who had support systems to speak for me. In many ways, the work that we did as the United Church of Canada, allowed me to do my own work around sexual orientation. This work was done by the queer community and importantly, by our allies. With an increase in violence towards the queer community, it is important that we all support each other and speak for justice in whatever way we can.
The passage ends by speaking about persecution.
Blessed are those who are persecuted because of their struggle for justice: The kindom of heaven is theirs. You are fortunate when others insult you and persecute you, and utter every kind of slander against you because of me. Be glad and rejoice for your reward in heaven is great; they persecuted the prophets before you in the very same way.
Persecution doesn’t feel like a blessing. For many of us who identify as queer, persecution is a reality. Anti-LGBTQ rhetoric is on the rise. The safety of drag show artists and participants is at risk. Children who need love, acceptance as they explore sexuality and gender continue to find themselves in spaces that are unsafe and unwelcoming.
No one should be persecuted for who they are, for being their full selves. The Psalm 139 reading includes a reminder of the wonder that is each person:
You created my inmost being
And stitched me together in my mother’s womb.
For all these mysteries I thank you—
For the wonder of myself,
For the wonder of your works—
My soul knows it well.
When we find ourselves in moments when we question who we are, and whether we are loved and accepted, these words bring us back to the very heart of God. They remind us that God gives us the wonder of ourselves. That wonder should never be in doubt. No one should make us feel less than. or question the spirit of God within. The Christian church has a history of denying queer people the right to exist and encouraging conversion therapy to change someone’s sexual orientation. For many in the queer community, the church is a place of persecution. It is not always a place of safety and love.
We begin the struggle for justice from a place where we believe this passage. God created our inmost being. God created the wonder of each of us and our souls know God’s presence. Each person carries God in our very being. As people of faith, that is non-negotiable.
The assurance and wonder of God within us leads us to recognize the hurt in the world. We can see that not everyone has the assurance of seeing God in themselves or the wonder of who they are.
We can see the persecution that exists around us. Persecution in and of itself is not a blessing. When we choose to stand with those who are experiencing persecution, we begin to see a shift in the world. We might also feel a bit persecuted as we stand with those on the margins and particularly with the queer community in very difficult times. The beatitudes leave us with one final reminder about persecution: The prophets before you were also persecuted. The prophets always called God’s people to be faithful, to return to God’s way of love and justice. If we are doing the work of justice and find ourselves persecuted for it, we can ground ourselves in the knowledge that we come from a long line of people who stood for justice and were persecuted for it. We remember Isaiah, Jeremiah, Amos, Micah, Jesus, and many others. Because of the history of hurt, churches that are welcoming and affirming, need to work extra hard at building connections, assuring the queer community that they are seen, valued, worthy, and loved.
The beatitudes remind us that our struggle is the struggle of all. They remind us that blessing and struggle are often connected. Suffering and struggle is not the goal. God does not cause the pain and hurt that exists in the world. The beatitudes invite us to stand in the midst of our own hurt and pain so we can see it in a bigger context. The beatitudes invite us to step into the struggles of those around us as we seek justice and resist evil.
God created our inmost being
And stitched us together in my mother’s womb.
For all these mysteries we thank you—
For the wonder of myself,
For the wonder of your works—
My soul knows it well.
We are not alone.
Twirling Jen 